


Just Because

by Hella_Queer



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: 5+1, ALL HAIL, Cecilos invented love and being in love it’s true the Glow Cloud, Fluff, M/M, Married Carlos/Cecil Palmer, told me itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hella_Queer/pseuds/Hella_Queer
Summary: Cecil was a generous man, and no one knew that better than Carlos.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123





	Just Because

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (late) birthday to my wife, my ladybug, my winter cabin getaway daydream <3

“Do you like it?” 

Carlos assess the package in his lap. It’s rather lumpy, wrapped in brown parchment and tied with old string. It crinkles under his touch, like the bag of a school lunch on field trip day. Holding it up to his nose —it doesn’t feel heavy— he can smell sea salt and wet brick, like a beloved coffee shop after the rain. He loves it already, but since Cecil has started to embrace what Carlos claims is traditional wrapping, he’s willing to bet there’s something inside of the paper, too. 

And he’s right! Underneath, folded expertly, is fabric so black it hurts to look at. Holding it up, Carlos can see the very faint silver stitching in the seams. It looks like a piece of deep space was woven into fabric. It doesn’t look _real_ , but that wasn’t too crazy for Night Vale. 

“It’s beautiful,” Carlos whispers. “Where did you get this?” 

“Legally I’m not allowed to say,” Cecil laughs nervously. “I didn’t even pay in money. The creature selling it only accepted memories. So now I’ve lost all knowledge of…” He blinks, staring down at his hands. “Ah well, doesn’t matter. If it was so important, I wouldn’t have sold it, right?”

Carlos isn’t so sure about that, but he’s distracted by how the fabric seems to absorb all light, reflecting nothing back. At Cecil’s urging he gets up to try it on, and gasps as the frantic moves on its own. It wraps around him quick and tight, not like a snake trying to strangle its victim, but one seeking warmth. When it’s done circling his body, Carlos is adorned in a lab coat so stylish he feels the property values of their home skyrocket. 

Cecil beams, clapping his hands. “That’s what I was hoping it would do! Oh gosh, for a second I thought I was tricked and was sold a Serpent Scarf instead. Similar appearance, very different outcomes.” 

Carlos, though he knows the threat of killer clothing is very much a possibility, is giddy with flattery. He spins, strikes a few model poses, and glows under the spotlight that is Cecil’s smile. Very rarely does he feel as Perfect as Cecil likes to call him, but right now he feels pretty damn close. 

“This isn’t an illegal item is it?” He asks, closing his eyes and applying thought to the fabric. He rubs it between his fingers, and when he opens his eyes his stylish lab coat is now a stylish trench coat. “We’re not in any danger?”

Cecil opens his mouth, probably to remind him that they are Always in danger, but then he stops and smiles. “It’s rare but not illegal. Back in the day when Night Vale didn’t have the resources to make many garments, these mythical beasts came down and saved the town from freezing to death.”

He gets up from the couch and wraps his arms around Carlos, pulling him into a close embrace. Carlos goes easily, willingly, hearts in his eyes just like there are stars wrapping around both of them in the form of a scarf. 

“My Carlos,” Cecil sighs, like most others would say _my love_ or _my darling_. His name is it’s own term of endearment, and that never fails to make his heart flutter. 

“If we hurry we can catch the breakfast shift at the diner,” Carlos says, placing a lingering kiss to Cecil’s cheek. “Show off my new gift over a plate of toast.”

“That sounds wonderful. But I have a question.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s toast?”

XOXOXOX

Cecil doesn’t visit his lab often. They do their best to align their work schedules so that they’re both busy when they can’t be together. He’s done research on the honeymoon phase of marriage, and from the dragonflies in his stomach, and the bumblebees in Cecil’s, he’s concluded that they suffer from a rare case of Prolonged Waxing Gibbous. As of right now there is no known cure, but Carlos hasn’t noticed any harmful side effects. A bout of pouting, some patches of clinginess, but nothing to truly worry about.

Other than the occasional “I just needed to remember your breathing pattern” phone calls Cecil usually doesn’t show up during his work hours, physically or otherwise. Unless Carlos was thinking about him, which he did from time to time. Once a day. For scientific purposes. 

“Hi, sweetie!” Carlos says to his hazmat suit wearing husband. “Are you here for business or personal reasons?”

“Is there even a difference with you two?” One of his colleagues mutter, causing the rest of them to chuckle. Cecil’s on air adoration for the handsome scientist was never a secret, and Carlos tries not to laugh at the blush that rises in Cecil’s cheeks, visible underneath the protective plastic of his helmet. 

“A little of both, I think.” It isn’t until now that Carlos notices the large, dark blue box held in his hands. Surprising since it’s rather massive, but that’s Prolonged Waxing Gibbous for you. “You know the legend of Santa Clause, don’t you?”

Carlos nods, his curiosity dancing like ants at a picnic. “Yes, Janice told me. While I think Santa is a rather silly name for a forgetful transdimensional being, it’s fascinating what ends up under people’s coffee tables.” 

“Is there a dark, sealed room where we can put this?”

“Of course!” Carlos leads him deeper into the facility, down a few hallways, before using his keycard to access a room similar to one where you would develop photos. He goes to the little locker in the corner to grab the hazmat suit—each room is equated with one just in case—only for Cecil to start taking his off!

“What are you doing?”

“I just put this on when I went to the post office. It’s flu season in that area. Can never be too careful.” He sets the box on the workbench, grinning in the dull lighting. His gaze softens, smiley turning a bit gooey. “Have I ever told you how handsome you look in khakis? And jeans, and slacks. Bright magenta spandex—“

“ _The box,_ Mr. Palmer.”

“Right away, _Mr. Palmer.”_

Carlos huffs at him, fighting back a gigantic smile. That new name still gives him chills, being tied to Cecil in such a way. It made the dragonflies in his belly swirl in tight spirals, fizzing him up like a soda can. He hopes that feeling never goes away or dulls. He wants the magic of being Cecil’s husband to cast an everlasting glow on his heart.

Inside the box is a globe; a black sphere with glittery gold lines and symbols and dots. It’s very pretty, but Carlos can’t make out what makes it special. Not until Cecil clicks the button on the top, and the globe begins to slowly spin. He pushes the buttons on the base, and the dark room lights up, not unlike the fantastical lights above the Arby’s. But to Carlos they’re very familiar. 

“I didn’t understand it at first,” Cecil murmurs beside him. “I know what the night sky looks like, and none of these are the stars above Night Vale. But I thought, since it didn’t come from Night Vale, maybe…”

Carlos raises his hand above the globe and watches the stars cross over him. They morph, the angle of the sphere changing on its axis. The artificial light warms his skin like the sun, covering him like a blanket fresh from the dryer. He’s crying but he doesn’t care. 

Cecil doesn’t have to ask if these are what the stars look like where Carlos is from, he already knows. It’s in his hunched shoulders, his quiet sobs, it’s the way he falls into Cecil’s embrace and lets himself be held, the strength in his legs nonexistent. Eventually they sag to the floor, Carlos in his husband’s lap, breathing in his fresh cologne. It smells of mountain air and apple cider. 

“I figured you could keep it here,” Cecil whispers into his perfect hair. “So you have a place you can go when Night Vale becomes overwhelming. So you have a reminder that home...that home exists.” 

Here in this town, in this building, in these arms, Carlos feels something in his chest give way. Like a bridge collapsing in the middle, sending everything on it to the waters below. Ice cracking under heavy heels, cold water chilling and refreshing him all at once. 

“Of course home exists,” Carlos laughs, tears falling unbidden down his face. “You’re right here.”

XOXOXOX

There was something enchanting about being in the studio while Cecil was on the air. His regular speaking voice was lovely on a normal, do nothing day, but the way it lowered and dipped during his segments, when he read the community calendar, introducing the weather… it gave Carlos chills being so close to his honey voiced honey while he was doing his thing. He was so proud of him, he had to work hard to keep his actions professional.

“And now we have a special guest to help me with the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner. Say hello, special guest.”

“Hello, Night Vale.”

“It’s Carlos!” Cecil cheers, the happiness in his voice not at all hindered by lack of visuals. “Carlos the scientist.”

“I think you mean Carlos Palmer the scientist,” he replies cheekily, and giggles when Cecil covers his face with his hands and spins around in his chair a few times. “Listeners I must inform you that your astute host is adorably flustered—“

“I’m not scientific!”

“I greatly disagree!”

A loud banging from the doors makes them jump; the amalgamation that is Station Management looms threateningly in the hall, wailing disappointedly. Carlos ducks his head and coughs, glancing at Cecil from the corner of his eye. They share a secret, mischievous smile, like two schoolboys in detention together. Cecil reaches over and swipes his thumb lovingly over Carlos’ eyebrow, and the scientist sighs dreamily, before turning to face the microphone. 

“Today’s scientific musing is about dirt! Sturdy, nutritious, and deadly. Those of you who live near large patches of dirt might want to take notes.”

Carlos doesn’t look at him while he speaks, but he feels Cecil’s intense gaze on the side of his face throughout the entirety of his segment. It makes him blush, those pesky dragonflies can-canning on top of his liver. Warm fingers slip something into his hand just as he finishes up his cautionary tale about microscopic mudslides. 

“I’m being handed a piece of paper.. Oh, it’s a tiny umbrella! It’s orange with little white and pink bumble bees on it. The handle looks wooden, a dark wood. Oak perhaps? Or maple?” He turns a curious smile Cecil’s way. “Where did you get this, Cece?” He twirls it between his fingers, absolutely smitten. 

“I. I made it.” Cecil rubs his thumbs together, a nervous habit. “I stumbled down an origami rabbit hole on my way to the bathroom before you arrived, and after fighting the radioactive King Carrot, the rabbits were so grateful they grated me one special skill. And I know how much you love umbrellas.” 

He did love umbrellas. They were practical, versatile, and could be used as a weapon in times of great desperation. Carlos tucks the umbrella behind his ear, arranging it just so; if he closes his eyes he can pretend they’re on a tropical island. Sipping out of a coconut. Eating wheat and wheat byproducts. Using writing utensils out in the open! 

“How do I look?” He turns his head slightly, mirth shining in his eyes. 

There’s a big chunk of dead air as Cecil stares longingly at the man not three feet away. His eyes are soft, his mouth not smiling, but not frowning either. He looks utterly content, reaching out to brush the back of his hand against Carlos’ cheek. He tucks a lock of hair behind the ear without the umbrella, sighing a sigh that fills Carlos’ heart with lavender bubbles. 

“Perfect.”

XOXOXOX

Carlos has grown accustomed to coming home with very little expectations. Night Vale was unpredictable, be it shadow people on a first date or rips in the fabric of spacetime, there was never a dull moment. Unless the dull moment was a byproduct of some kind of slow acting poison, in which case..still never a dull moment. But the one thing he could always count on was plants.

Though he was not a botanist, he knew the basic structure of plant life all started off the same, even if they mutated to killer oranges or pine trees that grew arms and knees but no ankles to support them. They were documentable in a way that people and anomalies were not. They could be put in an easily controlled environment, tested on without remorse, and, if you were lucky, wouldn’t fight back if you tried to put it in a new home. 

But they were also boring! Carlos didn’t even like the color green all that much unless Cecil was wearing it. (Although that was true for every color, even the ugliest of browns). It didn’t bring him joy like a bright teal, or calm him like the coolest of reds. There are pretty shades of green of course, just like there are ugly shades of yellow, but overall the entire feeling of that piece of the color wheel, as well as plants in general, didn’t mix with him. He was oil and plants were water. They didn’t mix without something to help them along. 

Yet here he is, shopping for groceries, a cactus strapped to his chest in a baby harness. 

Cecil wasn’t as naive or innocent as many seemed to believe. He knew Carlos’ weaknesses, knew how to tug on his ears just right to make his guard fall. When he presented the ‘gift’ to him, he got very close and kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear like they were in the bedroom instead of the front steps. 

“Rumor has it this cactus never needs to be watered,” he had breathed. “Isn’t that fascinating? Aren’t you just the least bit curious about it?” 

At the time Carlos was curious about other things, all of them involving his husband and none of them appropriate. 

Carlos had taken the curious little plant to the lab, and when things were slow he would do some tests and observations. It’s a small, round, green little ball, sat snugly in a flower pot of incredibly dry dirt. Not only could the cactus survive without water, it rejected it. It wilted on rainy days, thrived under the heat lamp and direct sunlight. Some of his colleagues suggested cutting it open to see the inner workings and harvest whatever was inside. A plan Carlos was more than happy to go along with. 

But then Cecil went and named the damn thing! He would ask for updates and pictures, cooing like he did over Khoshekh. He was so...cute. It would break his heart if Carlos dissected the plant for scientific purposes. So he put a label on its pot, made sure to use his Serious Voice when warning his colleagues not to harm it, and went about his life as usual. Until the last minute renovations were announced. They had to move everything that wasn’t bolted down in a hurry, and Carlos just about had a heart attack when he heard someone shouting about bumping into a million thumbtacks. 

Feeling oddly protective, and a bit offended at the obscenities that were hurled at Pinchazo, Carlos whisked it away like an angry parent and headed down to Ralphs, because at least there he could get some work done in the bread aisle. He ignored the odd looks he received; if this was what Night Vale considered out of the ordinary then they were clearly all doomed to a terrible fate. 

When his hand accidentally brushes against the side of his prickly companion, he doesn’t recoil in pain. Instead he laughs, rubbing his fingers over the needles that feel like cotton under his touch. 

“Are you getting soft on me?” He asks, thinking fondly of his husband, who has a habit of finding the hearts of many difficult things. 

Perhaps green was a nice color after all.

XOXOXOX

“Don’t let go, okay?”

“Not ever.” 

Date Nights were pretty legendary with the Palmers. If it wasn’t bugs that tap danced out of synch and ruined the atmosphere of a nice walk through the park, it was something else. Never a dull moment with these two, even when they desperately wanted one. Like tonight for instance, when a simple run out for ice cream had turned into a gravity defying nightmare. 

Was a single night of relatively normal fun too much to ask for? 

On a normal day… on a less chaotic day… if they weren’t floating in the air, clinging to each other for dear life, feathered to a telephone pole with two belts and four shoelaces, Carlos might’ve made a joke. He might’ve said “Do you mean that figuratively or literally?” Maybe he would’ve said something cheesy about how being with the other man made him feel lightheaded. Perhaps he would’ve tried to slow dance, swaying in a slow circle as they waited for this moment to pass. 

Carlos could forgive Night Vale when it came to a lot of things, but scaring his husband was not one of them. Cecil detested heights. Their first apartment was on the first floor, Cecil never wore platform shoes, he only looked up at the sky when he could feel something solid beneath his feet. Right now the only solid things around him are the aforementioned telephone pole, the makeshift tether, and Carlos. 

The wind blows just a little too strongly, pushing them slightly, and Cecil gasps like the earth just split down the middle and swallowed up three city blocks. He wants so badly to check for himself, to make sure such a devastating catastrophe hasn’t befallen them so soon, but Cecil’s heartbeat is like a hummingbird’s wings, and Carlos dreads the thought of him fainting. Even with gravity nonexistent at the moment if Cecil goes limp he’ll slip out of his arms and float too far and too high for anyone to catch him. 

So he just holds him, his scientific mind taking a backseat to the little— maybe not so little anymore— corner of his mind that houses comfort and love and compassion. When the world rights itself and sends them back to the ground he hides his pain and tries to absorb most of the impact, his ankles and knees crying out in protest. Still he doesn’t let go, eyeing the makeshift tether over Cecil’s shoulder. He doesn’t call attention to how frayed his newly gifted cinnamon scented shoelaces are, one good tug away from snapping. He doesn’t think it would help. 

“We should try to make it to the radio station, to alert the town. Or.. comfort them I suppose. You’re very good at handling bad news.”

A ghost of a smile flickers across Cecil’s pale face. “Years of practice.” His amusement leaves as soon as it came. “I don’t think we can take the car..” 

“We can walk. Quickly.”

Cecil nods, stiff like a wooden doll. Carlos hooks his arm through his and holds him close, ignoring the deep ache in his legs. He doesn’t let go even once they get to the studio, hands a firm reminder on Cecil’s shoulders. He wasn’t going to break his promise. 

Not even for science.

XOXOXOX

Cecil was not a materialistic man. He likes his things, he needed a majority of them, but if they all disappeared without a trace he supposes he would make due without them. He wasn’t a show off either, preferring to keep accomplishments in his inner circle of friends, family, and his listeners. He was perfectly happy living a quiet life.

The new, sparkling, opalescent ring on his middle finger had other plans.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing my favorite gay cryptids and I must say it was a delight can’t wait to do it again!


End file.
